


Drifting

by Aurënfaie (Aurenfaie)



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Johnny Silverhand casts a long shadow, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Only Partially Beta-ed, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Terminal Illnesses, The Sun Ending (Cyberpunk 2077)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 14:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurenfaie/pseuds/Aur%C3%ABnfaie
Summary: How V and Kerry learned to love each other.
Relationships: Kerry Eurodyne/V
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	Drifting

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried to make this V as neutral as possible so that most people can fit their V in his spot. For anyone curious about the V I had in mind as I wrote, check the notes at the end.
> 
> UPDATE: Thank you everyone for the super kind comments! I'm a bit overwhelmed right now and can't respond individually just yet, but I really appreciate you taking the time to say such nice things 💕

* * *

_When I turned to look at where you should've been, I started drifting_

_I tried to stare into your eyes and realized that there was something..._

* * *

**KERRY**

The sound of guitar filled Kerry's home. It wasn't uncommon, not when he'd been working on a new album for the last month. It was usually Kerry though, playing the guitar while V absently disassembled and cleaned his guns. The greatest compliment was when V complained that the tune was stuck in his head for days until he could convince Kerry to play it again. It helped Kerry stop fussing and overthinking every line. "Sounds real like this," V'd said with the nonchalance of someone who had exactly no idea what he was talking about, and yet had given the praise that mattered the most.

It wasn't Kerry plucking the familiar cords to an old Samurai song tonight. His first thought was Johnny—long dead, now twice dead, Johnny riding V's body like a fucking mech pilot, here to taunt Kerry one more time.

But it wasn't Johnny either. It was V, half sprawled across the white leather couch, looking dazed as his fingers danced across the cords. V, who couldn't even carry a tune with Johnny at the wheel, was now strumming out the opening chords to "Black Dog" like he'd played the song his whole life.

"Since when did you play?" Kerry asked, leaning his hip against the wall beside his strikingly artful nude portrait.

V didn't say anything for a while, letting the song carry through the moment as he gathered his thoughts. His eyes cleared and shifted to Kerry. "Probably something I got from Johnny," he said, brows furrowing in a way that might have been charming if his fingers didn't seem to have a mind of their own as they pressed into steel guitar strings.

"Ah." Kerry wondered how Alt could know what was Johnny's and what was V's when she separated them. V had tried to explain it more than once, but it was so far beyond his understanding that he'd stopped trying to process and accepted it as an unknown for the ages. He imagined two pieces of clay rolled and mashed together, and then picked apart bit by bit into their distinct selves. It couldn't be done, not in just a few minutes, and not by someone who'd lost track of what it meant to be human in the first place.

The thought of all of the little pieces of Johnny left behind in V made Kerry wonder how Johnny would look on his couch, in this thriftless place instead of in the shithole Johnny had known before. He knew Johnny didn't much appreciate how Kerry'd sold out, even if it meant that Kerry finally had his time in the light. Through V's eyes, he'd seen Johnny's distaste for this shrine to faithless stardom. That cold conviction had kept him from sleep for days.

Now, V's gaze kept drifting past him. Kerry didn't know what his ambiguous and unfocused eyes see just beyond him in the villa—

no, he knew exactly who V was looking for, who he will never see again

—so he waved his hand absently to wake the TV and give him something to look at.

"Why don't you put that down," Kerry said as gently as he could manage with the judgment of a dead choom tapping at the back of his mind. "'S almost time for Watson Whore. Promised I'd make you watch it."

V's fingers slowed to a stop, "Yea," he said vaguely, before blinking slowly and sitting upright. "Yea, I remember."

Kerry wasn't sure he did, not when clarity seemed to come and go from his mind like ocean waves, but then V flashed that shy, goofy smile of his, and Kerry's worries washed away.

**KERRY**

When V told him he was dying, Kerry thought it was a sick joke. Wasn't the point of having a hot young input to fuck his brains out, gift him a fortune upon his passing, and fuck over his own family? He would have loved to see the look on Louise's face when V showed up at the reading of the will (not that he wouldn't have stashed something aside for the kids).

But no, V was going to die. _Fuck_.

"I know we haven't known each other that long, Kerry," V said. He was hunched over the driver seat of Johnny's old Porsche, arms braced against the steering wheel. His knuckles were completely wrapped in bandages, and Kerry could see the hint of bruises peeking out from under them. Half of V's face was busted up too, with medical tape covering a ridge Kerry recognized as liquid stitches. "And I know that it's not the same without Johnny here, but could I...could I ask you to stay?"

The way V seemed to be crawling into himself nearly broke Kerry's damned heart. They really hadn't known each other long, no more than a few weeks and a good portion of that hadn't even been V himself. He liked V though. He was good-looking, emphatic, and funny in a quiet way. It wasn't exactly a burden to stay by his side, especially not when the alternative was...

"Shit, kid. Don't go acting like I was going to ditch you. Thought you had more respect for me by now," Kerry tried to joke, but it fell flat against the tight muscles along V's shoulders. _Fuck_ , Kerry was bad at this kind of thing. Life's loops? Life was showing him that he hadn't learned a single thing in his near-century on this earth. He thought of the dim display at Johnny’s funeral. It had taken months of denial and hoping to get there. Without a body to put in the ground, no one wanted to be the first to admit that Johnny was gone. There had been no goodbyes, not when Johnny himself hadn’t even known how little time he had left. The whole thing felt like a book missing its last page. Kerry hadn't once told Johnny how much he meant to him. Johnny didn't help with that, not with his ego the size of the sun, and until the moment V 's body planted itself outside Kerry's bathroom with a guitar, he'd regretted that. This was another chance, a way to protect Johnny's last gift to him, to keep this _kid_ from dying alone.

"V, hey," Kerry said as he leaned over the gear shift and into V's space. He brushed over the bandages along V's cheek with his fingers, closely followed by a soft kiss to the abused flesh just below them. V flinched under his touch, like he'd been expecting Kerry to have run out by now. Kerry looped an arm around V's shoulders and pulled him closer, ignoring the way the gear shift dug into his stomach. "V, I'll stay. I won't leave."

If he could keep one promise in his life, Kerry swore to keep this one.

**V**

"What was so bad about dying old?" V wondered into the phone. "Didn't have to be anything, didn't have to prove anything."

The edge of his voice wobbled like the surface of water. Tears wouldn't come, but they threatened the curve of his eyelids. He let his head fall back against the side of the bed, ignoring the growing numbness in his ass resting on the hardwood floor. "What the fuck is at the top without you next to me? Why did we fight so hard? For _this_?"

Every part of him ached for the easy companionship Jackie offered. Never in his life had he been treated so unconditionally human until Jaquito Welles crashed bodily into his life. It wasn't that Jackie was always kind to him, though he was more often than not, and it wasn't that he welcomed V into his family, though he had. It was that Jackie argued with him, laughed with him, made stupid choices with him. Until then, V had only ever been accountable to himself. With Jackie, V learned to let someone else into his heart and bear the responsibility that came with it. V remembered the way Jackie would fuss over his injuries, the way he'd make sure V ate something every time he was over, the way he taught V the joy of being known. He'd been so reluctant to let him close, but Jackie was a force to be reckoned with. He barreled his way through V's life, and cut out new holes for others to fill in. Even in death, he'd given V Johnny, a bittersweet parting gift who'd carved the biggest piece of all.

Now, he was missing a piece of his soul.

"I gotta tell you, Jackie," V continued once he had his voice back under control, "Don't even feel like a whole person. Not sure _I_ exist anymore. Feels like everything got twisted up in someone else and stretched out until you can't even see it anymore."

"Probably would have been better for you to live, or shit, for Johnny to live—at least he might have had time." V curled over his leg propped up against his elbow and pushed his cheek into the soft skin on his knee. Given the opportunity, anyone with any sense would trade him for Jackie or Johnny. He wished he'd made that trade himself. "He had Kerry and Rogue, and shit to do. They were waiting for him, y'know? Shit, Kerry, he...Johnny coulda done something with this. But me? I'm just..." he sighed and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "One person out of billions. Just a shadow of someone else. I thought my life was worth it."

Just as he was about to give himself over to tears, a warning flashed before V's eyes and his vision stuttered. A groan rushed from his throat and he fell to the side, his head none-too-gently smacking the rug beneath him. Pain erupted through his head and his optics glitched dramatically. "Fuck," V whimpered, the syllable so strangled it came out as little more than a breath. He curled his arm over his eyes. Every nerve felt on end, and the throbbing in his head made him dizzy. For a split second, he thought he saw Johnny flicker in at the edge of his vision, but he'd later suspect that his optics had gotten too accustomed to seeing him there.

He lay like that while he waited for the spinning inside his skull and the static before his eyes to stop. If he'd eaten anything before stumbling into bed that morning, he might have retched all over the floor. As it was, there wasn't even water to toss his stomach. Small blessings.

When his arms felt steady, V pushed his shoulders off of the floor and returned to his place resting against the side of the bed. "Shit..." he murmured. He gently touched his temples and let his eyes rest closed. Everything inside and out felt cold. The hum of the mansion's many electronics filled the air while V fumbled for his thoughts and landed right back at misery. The pain that came with every seizure and malfunction was too familiar to throw him for long. It had become his most constant companion, one that had followed him almost every waking moment since he'd let Jackie die. V dragged a hand down his face at that thought. "Feels like that might be punishment for being such a fuck up."

A thought crossed V's mind and he pushed his thumb into his temple. "Shit, you're dead and I'm here bitching about my life. How fucked is that?" Jackie didn't respond. V knew he wouldn't, but he still waited in silence, eyes shut, begging for anything—a reprimand, a joke, or even kind words. He would have taken a punch square to the face with that meaty paw and been grateful for it. But Jackie was dead and V was unworthy and alive. "I..." V swallowed and lowered his voice. "I miss you. So much."

As V was about to spiral into further self-loathing, the front door downstairs slammed open. He recognized the chaotic bouncing footsteps as they made their way to the kitchen counter.

"Hey V," Kerry's smokey voice called out, "Got tamales! Get your ass down here!"

V's eyes snapped open. His vision was only a little fuzzy at the edges, and he was pretty sure he could stand without passing out. "Just a sec!" V shouted back. He swore under his breath and looked to the phone. His voice dropped to nearly a whisper and his lips brushed the phone. "I'll see you soon. Just a little longer, ok?" He scrubbed the back of his hand over his face to wipe away any sign of his seizure and hauled himself up off the floor. A quick swipe of his finger and the line went dead.

It took only seconds and a lifetime of experience for V to compose himself. He tried to put some bounce into his slightly unsteady steps as he trotted down the stairs. It belatedly occurred to him that he was still only in his briefs, but Kerry had seen more. Hell, maybe the view would keep him distracted while V got back into the rhythm of pretending to be himself.

Kerry was waiting for him in the kitchen. He was rummaging through the cabinets and drawers when V stepped behind him and reached for the shelf of plates. Kerry turned to him and leaned back against the counter, the bag of tamales looped in his arm. His unnatural piercing blue eyes followed V's every movement.

"This place is even worse than mine. How the fuck do you find anything?" he grumbled and tore his gaze from V long enough to dig through the crumpled paper bag and offer over a foil-wrapped tamale.

V set the plates by Kerry's hip and turned the tamale in his hand. "This the good shit?"

"You'd bitch if it wasn't."

V peeled back one end of the foil and husk and smiled. It wasn't as difficult as he'd expected. "You know me so well," he said and pressed a kiss to Kerry's lips.

Kerry seemed to freeze against him. Instead of returning the kiss with his usual anarchic energy, Kerry leaned back into the counter and gripped V's arm. An unfamiliar look clouded his features. "Y'know, if that was an important call, you didn't have to hang up."

Everything slowed for a second. V could feel his insides chill. He'd been mostly quiet by the time Kerry burst into the mansion...or had he still been talking? No, it didn't matter if V didn't let it matter. Kerry wasn't usually the type to nose into his business. Everything sped up and V flashed a lazy smile. "Just catching up with Judy. ‘Was already done," he lied. Inside, V steeled himself, pulled together the pieces Kerry probably liked the most like armor. Kerry wanted the cocky asshole, the strong quiet type, the one who went along with the chaos and destruction, not the V who calls his dead best friend when he's lonely. V himself didn't want that V.

Kerry studied him a moment, then let out a long breath and pushed away from the counter. "Yea, well. For future reference. I don't mind waiting." He beckoned for V to sit at the bar as he set out the plates and divided up the rest of the tamales. "Now sit your ass down and eat something. You look like the Grim-fucking-Reaper."

**KERRY**

V wasn't expecting him. That much Kerry knew from the phone call only an hour before. He'd been stuck in a meeting with some high-level record exec and bastard manager, begging him to just finish the fucking album so they could cash in. Kerry had managed to sneak away just long enough to call V and let him know he'd be by later, but that he'd bring food. V was quiet in a way he usually wasn't, the way he'd been the night Johnny died again. That thought nagged at Kerry until he finally snapped and flung his arms across the conference table, wiping all of the electronics off of it with a series of loud crashes. That pretty much put an end to the meeting and Kerry stormed out.

It would be a pleasant surprise, Kerry had decided when he stopped by for V's favorite tamales and approached V's new digs long before he'd planned.

The door unlocked at Kerry's presence, no fuss, no key, something that melted his heart in a way he hadn't expected, and he entered silently. He half expected V to have dozed off again—this time of the afternoon was like his early morning, and if there wasn't anything to do, he might let himself sleep in. V's work kept him up late at night and well past sunrise, leaving the brightest hours to be blocked by blackout blinds. Kerry hoped that his earlier mood could be attributed to grogginess instead of anything nefarious.

The mansion wasn't completely dark. The blinds on the upper level had been raised, allowing golden sunlight to pour through the windows. Kerry crept closer to the stairs leading to the bedroom, hoping to peek at V's stupid drooling sleeping face. He'd even gotten his phone out for a picture.

Instead, V's voice drifted from above him. Kerry strained to hear the soft rumble of his words as he crawled up a few steps and perched just below the line of the second level. Maybe it was unbecoming of a man rapidly approaching ninety, but Kerry couldn't help his eavesdropping.

Like most of Kerry's bad habits, listening in on a conversation not meant for him provided more pain than entertainment.

V wasn't the chatty type. He'd say what he was going to say (though whether or not he should say it was another matter altogether, since half the time it seemed to lead to a fist swinging at his face), and didn't make a point of filling silence with small talk. Maybe it was just that Kerry was always talking, usually about himself, always up to something, radiating with nervous fire, and V let him work it all out by being a wall to bash his head into.

 _Shit,_ that did not sound healthy.

This was the most Kerry had ever heard V talk at one time. He couldn't hear a response from the other end of the line, which left all the room in the air for V to fill. It wasn't until he heard Jackie's name that horrible realization dawned on Kerry. His heart sunk through his chest and into his feet, keeping him pinned to the stairs. Not once had V so much complained about a thing bigger than shitty food or cheap kicks. Kerry lived in blissful ignorance, so sure of his relationship with a simple, content (albeit slowly dying) merc with a nasty hole in his head. The worst part was that Kerry couldn't find it in himself to completely deny the part Johnny played in him getting close to V, how he'd hoped to see more of Johnny, how devastated he'd been when he heard that Johnny was gone.

Kerry's insides hollowed out, leaving him cold and numb. Could he trade V for Johnny? The fact that he couldn't answer right away filled the void with the burning freeze of self-loathing.

He fucking loved Johnny. He'd loved Johnny since the moment he met him. Maybe always not in a romantic way—not in a defined clear way he could pin to emotional intimacy, but he cherished every high and low they shared together. They haunted him for fifty years, strangling his growth until Johnny and V could tear away the vines wrapped around him and show him the sun. Had he been looking for Johnny in V's eyes all along?

But then, he'd held V with all of his strength when everything was said and done. He'd cried with relief to feel a pulse under his fingers as he held V by the back of his head and pressed his forehead into V's collarbone. V was still alive, at Kerry's side, in Kerry's bed, lighting Kerry's life, protecting him from the shadows. Without an engram in his head, there was no way that Kerry could confuse the two. V wasn't Johnny and Kerry still liked him despite—for?—that. This is what Kerry assured himself in the moments of silence interrupting V's one-sided call.

It wasn't until V started again that it occurred to Kerry that he should have spent that silence worrying. Everything in V's voice betrayed the feeling of defeat eating at him. V couldn't—he wouldn't—but Kerry didn't know, did he? He didn’t know anything about V, had never asked, had assumed that in the wake of Johnny's second death, V had gone back to the man he'd been before all of this. They'd only known each other for just over a month. He had no way of knowing who V was in the first place. Now he wasn't sure V could be trusted not to blow his brains out if left alone with the weight of dead friends on his mind.

He debated completing the climb up the stairs to check on V, before deciding that the method less likely to get him shot, and possibly dumped, was to pretend he'd never been there. Breaching his privacy was probably not the way to get V to talk. Kerry wasn't sure he was even qualified to listen. He'd have to earn that privilege. He'd have to prove to V, and to himself, that this wasn't about Johnny, not anymore.

Fortified, if not a little terrified, in his resolve, Kerry carefully backed down the stairs and crept to the door. Unless V was sitting along the railing, he shouldn't be able to see the doorway. Sure to make plenty of noise this time around, Kerry slammed the door open and kicked it shut a few seconds later. With any luck, V was too distracted to notice that the timing wasn't exactly right.

"Hey V," he shouted, hoping he sounded nonchalant, "Got tamales! Get your ass down here!"

**KERRY**

Kerry spent the next few days thinking about the could-have-beens and shouldn't-have-beens of his time with Johnny. They'd fucked a few times, the way that wildly creative artists did when they couldn't get out of their heads, but never dated. Johnny was resolute that his recurring fucks would be outputs, no strings attached groupies, or particularly entertaining joytoys, in that order. Not Kerry or Henry or anyone else he found in his bed/back of his car/futon/dressing room. That generally worked fine for Kerry, who only occasionally let himself be swept up in Johnny's abominable charisma. Every time he did, any dreams of being anything more came crashing down with bloody knuckles and screaming matches in dingy green rooms. Johnny was a friend who cast a long shadow that Kerry could always feel dousing the flame inside him.

With V, it was never like that. Everything was could-bes and can't-bes. Six months wasn't exactly a long time to build a life together, but he'd promised it to V. It wasn't a selfless promise, not when Kerry could see the light V was offering him. It was the chance to love and be loved, not as Johnny's shadow, but as _Kerry_.

That was what V wanted too. He wanted to be acknowledged by, to be loved by someone as himself. Kerry's mistake had always been to see his relationship to V in terms of Johnny. Johnny had been what brought them together, though he was sure V did the actual breaking and entering, but they'd built a relationship outside of him. They'd terrorized three well-meaning popstars, had heart-to-hearts, blown up a van and a yacht, just the two of them. Johnny hadn't been there for any of it (that he knew of). They'd kissed, and for a moment it hadn't been about Johnny or Night City or anything else. Those were the things that stitched them together like a sutured wound.

Without care, they'd fester and fall apart.

What he needed, what V needed, was something that was completely their own. V taught him to lift the veil of the past to see what treasures the present had to offer. Now it was Kerry's turn to show V how important it was for him just to exist, and V _did_ _exist_ , whatever he felt about himself now.

V wasn't Johnny, and if he wasn't Johnny, who was he? Kerry tried to dig into the unfamiliar parts of V, to pull at strings he'd never plucked and see what sound they made. They fit together, him and V, differently than he ever did with Johnny. Johnny made everything loud and overwhelming, but V made him quiet and thoughtful, made him want to act with purpose instead of flailing against the bars of his cage. V deserved to be treated with that newfound purpose if only Kerry could express himself in a meaningful way.

**V**

" _Oh_ ," V breathed when he was pulled into Kerry's lap with careful hands and a warm look that made V's brain flutter into static.

If he'd wanted to fight, to shift the dynamic, he could have. Kerry was fit for his age and obviously took care to stay in shape, but he didn't have years of knocking skulls under his belt. This wasn't how things usually went with them. Sure, Kerry often took the lead. He knew what he wanted and knew how to push V's buttons just right. Maybe there was some slapping and light choking, a little rough play here and there, and V gave as good as he got. They fucked like they were playing to see who could get more riled up. They'd tried pretty much every position in the book, but V had never felt vulnerable. V was never handled like he was some soft thing. It made him feel fragile in a way he'd never let himself feel, even through blood and pain and sickness. It wasn't a bad feeling. He knew he was stronger than Kerry, and that if it came to it, he would protect Kerry with his life. Kerry didn't even have to do anything to earn that kind of devotion. But this development did something to his stomach he couldn't quite explain. Kerry's fingers were gentle as they stroked down his back, tender in a way V couldn't process. _Johnny would never have done this_ , he thought as he settled his knees on either side of Kerry's hips and into unknown territory.

Then Kerry pulled V's hips down against his and all thoughts of Johnny were gone and replaced by Kerry Kerry Kerry. Kerry, who pressed his fingers to the back of V's neck and drew him in for a kiss. Kerry, who ran his palm up V's thigh and tucked his fingertips into the waist of V's pants. Kerry, who kept saying V’s name over and over again.

Kerry's fingers tugged, pulling the hem of V's pants down until they caught where his ass was pressed to Kerry's thighs. V lifted himself, trying to make room, but Kerry was already distracted. The heel of his palm pushed against the front of V's briefs and he curled his fingers to give V a light squeeze.

That jolted V into action. "Shit, Ker," he gasped and planted one foot on the floor long enough to make an awkward scene of kicking his pants down. Kerry helped—or at least made the appearance of helping through his groping and teasing—and shoved V's briefs down too. They hung off of V's ankle as he clambered back into Kerry's lap until he shook his foot to discard them. A chuckle bubbled out of Kerry's throat. V watched him pull off his rings one by one and bounce them toward the coffee table, not bothering to watch where they landed.

"Desperate for it, huh?" Kerry teased as he wrapped his fingers around V's growing cock and tugged it lazily.

"Don't be a shithead," V groaned and pushed his hips into Kerry's. Kerry hadn't stripped at all, a V's skin stuck to the leather uncomfortably. He lifted his hips again and made a grab for Kerry's belt, only to be intercepted by a calloused hand. Kerry grinned, triumphant, before his gaze wandered down V's body and his expression softened.

"Just let me do it," he said and released V's hand. V tried not to think about what that look meant and was rewarded with the sound of Kerry grumbling "S'gotta be a dozen of 'em trapped in this fucking thing," as he fumbled around the couch cushions. When at last he pulled a well-used fluorescent bottle from between the seat and the back of the couch, Kerry looked a little too triumphant. "Small victories," he assured V as he popped the cap.

Lube slid down V's crack, chased by hot fingers. V shivered and bent an arm around the back of Kerry's neck to hold himself up. He pressed his face into Kerry's shoulder and pushed back against the first press of fingers into him. Kerry’s smell—smoke and leather and some sort of flower in his cologne—filled V’s senses. All his life, he’d hated the smell of cigarettes, but something about the smell on Kerry, maybe the brand he smoked, was comforting. V let out a long breath and bore down on the fingers. The stretch scratched a certain itch, made him groan and tighten his arm around Kerry. This was easy, focusing on Kerry’s fingers working him open, the lube leaking past his entrance, the quiet, broken pieces of praise that slipped past Kerry’s lips when V loosened around him.

“Good...you’re so…” and a soft, pleased hum. Feeling a little pleased with himself, V pulsed his muscles a little and pressed a kiss to the side of Kerry’s neck. It was embarrassing to let himself get fingered open like a 16-year old on prom night, but Kerry seemed into it. A bead of sweat ran against V’s lips and Kerry squirmed under him.

“Shoulda let me help you out,” he teased, only to jolt when the feeling of fullness shifted dramatically into bone-melting pleasure. “Shi-i-i-it, Ker.” V pushed back from Kerry. He braced his hand against Kerry’s shoulder and lifted himself slightly. He licked his lips and pushed back down onto Kerry’s fingers. Kerry grinned at him and tapped his thumb against V’s asscheek, goading him to do it again. V did, but this time he reached back with his free hand and trailed his fingers along the spot where he and Kerry met. The tip of his finger breached his entrance alongside Kerry’s fingers. V’s head rolled back and he worked his thighs to fuck himself on the offered digits.

This seemed to be enough to temporarily break Kerry’s resolve for a nice, slow fuck. His fingers pulled from V and fumbled with his belt. His leather pants caught at his thighs and he had to briefly dislodge V just to get them off. It might have been funny if seeing Kerry so riled up wasn’t such a turn-on. Kerry was never the type to hold himself back from what he wanted, and oh how V felt wanted.

As soon as V was settled on Kerry’s lap once more, bare thighs to bare thighs, he felt overwhelmed. The edges of his vision were blurred and glitched. Everything was too hot and he panted for breath. Was he having another attack? _Not now, not now!_ he mentally begged, pushing himself up onto his knees. His weight shifted heavily onto his forearm pushed up against the back of the couch beside Kerry’s neck. V’s hand fell between his legs. His fingers skimmed Kerry’s thigh and met Kerry’s where they gripped Kerry’s cock. Kerry let his hand slide away to grip V’s hip while his other arm bent around V’s waist.

Everything seemed to slow as V lined himself up and sunk down. Kerry’s hand was a soothing force at his lower back. Kerry’s lips were pressed against his jaw, breathing more half praises into his skin. V let himself be filled with those words. His eyes clenched shut as he lowered himself. He didn’t remember sex with Kerry feeling like this before. It punched the breath out of his chest, made the world shrink down to nothing but Kerry’s bright blue eyes and the feeling of being filled with him. Even these things were too much. It was too intense. He was shaking— _No, let me have this one thing_ —and the first attempt to lift himself was aborted in favor of burying his face into Kerry’s shoulder.

“Too much?” Kerry asked, lips brushing V’s ear.

“Just...just need a minute.”

A minute wasn’t going to fix what was wrong with V. It gave him time to gather his resolve. He wanted this, to be with Kerry, to chase that feeling that was clinging to the back of every thought when it was just them alone.

V hadn’t stopped shaking, but he was able to push himself up this time. It was embarrassing to struggle this much, but Kerry hadn’t noticed. He pressed his chest into Kerry’s, forcing more of his weight off of his knees, and started to ride.

**KERRY**

Kerry wasn’t sure if V could understand what Kerry was trying to show him. He couldn’t verbalize it in any way that would have made sense, beyond “You deserve more” and “It matters this much” and “It’s you.” Hell, fucking his feelings into V wasn’t a well-thought-out plan in the first place, but dammit he was trying.

But V couldn’t support himself. That much was clear almost as soon as they’d started, but he’d still soldiered on, trying to fight his own failing body. His hip bones jut out from what was once smooth flesh, softly rounded by a diet of vending machine food and Chinese takeout. V had always been fit, muscular even, but in a way that said “I am a human being who beats the shit out of people for a living, not a slab of meat for your ocular consumption.” Now, Kerry could see the sharp knob of bone at his wrists, along with every vein in his arms. Some of it was that he didn’t eat as much, nor as poorly, as he had on his own. Kerry may have lived on takeout himself, but he ordered the preem shit, with real meat and produce. The rest...Kerry hated to think about what was straining to function within V’s body (nevermind that he’d secretly started pricing out the best surgeons in Night City and beyond for artificial organ transplants).

This wasn’t going to work. Trembles were wracking V’s body and no matter how badly V seemed to want this, he doubted V’s pride could handle him collapsing in the middle of sex.

Kerry hooked his hands under V’s thighs and pushed his pelvis up against V’s ass. V groaned, hips stuttering momentarily. With V off-balance, Kerry turned them and pressed V down against the couch.

V blinked up at him with bleary eyes.

“Hey V.” Kerry smiled down at him, rolling his hips languidly.

“A little warning next time, Ker,” V said, the corners of his lips tilting upward. His shaking hadn’t stopped, but it seemed to have less control over V’s body this way.

Assured by the way V hooked a leg behind Kerry’s hip, Kerry drew out and then let himself enjoy the slow slide back home. V twitched around him and Kerry’s eyes focused on the spot where V’s teeth dug into his lip. Kerry ran a hand up V’s side, relishing the contented sigh that pushed around V’s bit lip. This was the image Kerry wanted to save. He wanted to remember V enjoying himself, stronger than his sickness but still allowing himself to be treated gently. He wanted to remember the way V’s breath hitched when Kerry moved, the way V didn’t seem to see anything else in the world, not even the ghost of a friend. Once the trembling finally stopped, Kerry wanted to pretend this is how it was always going to be.

But it wasn’t going to last. Less than 6 months left, and Kerry intended to spend every minute of it building a collection of memories with V.

**KERRY**

He dreamed about the show in New Orleans. Kerry couldn't remember the date or year of the show, it wasn't relevant to the dream, just that it was way too hot for spring and the humidity was a bad match for his leather pants. That, and Johnny wasn't there. That wasn't how it happened in his memory, but the show went on without him in Kerry's dream. And what a show it was. Kerry couldn't remember ever feeling so free when Samurai was still together. His fingers were on fire and his lungs burned, and he knew, without seeing him, that V was watching.

A small, incessant shaking feeling pulled Kerry from sleep. It felt like something was shaking on the bed, muffled by sheets and pillows. Kerry rolled to the side, spreading his arm into what should have been V's space...but V wasn't there. Instead, Kerry's fingertips just barely touched the skin of V's back. He was perched on the edge of the bed, elbows bent on his legs and head propped in his hands. His leg was restlessly bouncing, sending a vague feeling of vibration across the mattress. Kerry shifted into the warm spot V had occupied and flatted his palm against V's back. Muscles twitched under his touch and Kerry could hear V's breath catch.

"V?" he asked, blurry eyes struggling to focus in the dark room.

"Be right back," V rasped and stumbled toward the bathroom.

Kerry told himself he'd wait up for V to return. He'd pull him close and enjoy his body heat through the night, comfort him through whatever had woken him, and they'd both have a decent night's sleep. He had good intentions, but he was thwarted by the late hour and V's failure to return. Without a thought to how long he'd waited up for V, Kerry drifted past the veil of silent sleep alone.

**V**

He was going to puke. V had been through this dance enough time to know the steps to not emptying his stomach on the floor beside the bed, but that didn't mean it wasn't a close thing. By the time he stumbled into the bathroom, he wasn't sure which way was up, let alone that he could accurately aim for the toilet.

Instead, V pushed himself into the corner of the shower. _Easier cleanup_ , he told himself, though the cool tile against his cheek certainly helped. Everything was too hot all at once and he panted for relief. The cold against his cheek kept him grounded, even when he couldn't see, could barely hear. No, he was fucking freezing now. Sweat dripped down his temple and along the crease of his nose. Every bone in his body seemed to rattle with shivers. He wanted the tile, the air, everything, to be any temperature other than what it was. Anything his skin touched felt like the scrape of fingernails against his flesh. Was he moving? The world spun around him and he lurched to one side and then the other to keep himself upright.

He needed...something, any kind of comfort. The only he could find was in the knob of the shower, which he turned clumsily, unleashing lukewarm water over his body. _Shit_ , he thought as he curled over himself with a wet cough.

**KERRY**

Kerry didn't have a second dream that night. If anything, he dreamt of waiting for V to return and he never did. Eventually, unknown sounds permeated his drowsy mind and dragged him from sleep. His foggy thoughts struggled to pull together what he was hearing. Water, rushing water, and a rattling cough.

Mind hazy, Kerry pushed himself up off the bed and staggered toward the bathroom to join him. His eyes were barely open, bleary with sleep when he spotted V in the shower. He could hardly process all of the red.

"V..." he asked as his mind slowly caught up. V, slouched on the shower tiles, still in his shorts, cradling his head in his hands. There was blood everywhere, including the pink remains of a handprint that had fumbled for the railing.

Kerry stood embarrassingly still as his mind stalled. _Suicide_ , he thought before he could even process the scene. V's depression had been edging on his mind, driving Kerry to distraction, making him wish he could do more, and now? Now V was—

No, V was breathing. V was coughing and shaking, rocking himself against the corner of the shower. Kerry dove to his side, into the shower's spray, slamming his knees painfully into the wet tiles. He pried V's hands away from his face—no cuts under his fingers, just damp flesh—to reveal the stream of blood dripping from V's mouth and nose. The red faded to pink as it trailed down his bare chest and on into the drain. Blood, so much more blood than Kerry had seen in V's brief coughing fits. When had it gotten this bad?

His shock broken, Kerry sprang into chaotic action, bursting from the shower and throwing open the drawers beside the sink where V had collected a mountain of medical supplies. There were rolls upon rolls of medical tape and bandages, which Kerry tossed to the ground in his search. Bottles of omega-blockers and Syncomp were cast aside, along with more stims than Kerry cared to think about, and tabs of 'Dorph wrapped in plastic and foil. This was part of being a merc, Kerry told himself as he pushed aside a mess of MaxDoc inhalers and grasped an autoinjector pen from the back of the drawer. He couldn't remember what Viktor said was in the encased needle, but he remembered what was important about it.

Kerry's return to V's side was anything but graceful as he slipped on the wet floor, crashing into the ground and banging his hip with a loud sound that ensured a massive bruise in the morning. The pain didn't register in the slightest. V had gone back to coughing in the time Kerry was gone, and that guttural chased away all other thoughts. Injector in hand, Kerry gently turned V to the side and stuck the meaty back of his arm. He held the injector in place longer than was probably necessary, but he wasn't about to take any risks.

"Gettin' wet, Kerry," V rasps, eyes unfocused and looking like Laguna Bend Lake just spit him out.

"Fuck you," Kerry snapped, then softened. He hadn't even noticed the rush of water pouring from the showerhead. He brushed V's wet hair off of his forehead and nosed his temple. He wiped away the blood dripping from V's nose with his palm. Another trail of crimson followed in its wake, undoing Kerry's work. V shuddered, trembling again the way he had the night before. It would have been a sign if Kerry hadn't been too blind to see it.

"This is new," Kerry said, wiping at V's nose again before another cough wracked his frame. "When did it start?"

"'S not new. Just worse. Can't do anything about it," V mumbled. He looked so small and young and alone.

This is why Kerry was here, not just because he liked V's company, maybe even...he was here so that V wouldn't be alone. That was all he'd asked after everything he'd done for Kerry. All he wanted was Kerry. Kerry felt his stomach turn, a mess of stress and fear and a warm feeling that didn't quite belong with this scene. He tried to bury it with rationality. V needed company. V needed someone to make sure he didn't choke on the blood he was hacking up from his lungs. V needed someone to take care of him. These were all things Kerry could give. He gave V a once over, then settled beside V's shivering side against the shower wall. He was soaked immediately, and finding the water too cold to be agreeable, adjusted the temperature.

An awful, strangled noise burst out of V's throat, but before Kerry could even attempt to guess what it meant, he found himself with his arms full of V. His arms folded under Kerry's armpits and hooked around his back, forcing their skin as close as possible. Kerry could feel V's muscles twitching under damp skin. Together, they warmed and settled. The beating of V's heart against his own kept Kerry in his head. V needed _him_ , and he would give V the world if he asked for it just then.

* * *

_I had a dream, and when I woke up you were finally there_

_When I woke up you were finally there_

* * *

**V**

When V awoke, he was dry and naked. He would have thought harder on that development, but as soon as he even tried to pull together any semblance of theory, he was slammed with a crippling headache. Even opening his eyes seemed to set off pain that rippled across his scalp and temples.

V groaned and rolled to his side. He curled into himself, only to brush his forehead against a warm body. The body shifted, giving V space to settle his throbbing head.

"How you feeling, kid?" Kerry's gravelly voice was tuned low enough to soothe, an odd comfort against the pounding in his skull.

"Like shit," V muttered, pushing himself onto his forearms just enough to lift his head onto Kerry's chest. His cheek pressed against smooth skin. His nose bumped a hint of golden cyberware. The heat of Kerry against him was as comforting now as it had been the night before (he tried not to let the embarrassment of his breakdown get to him—extenuating circumstances and all). The steady beat of Kerry's heart soothed him into near-sleep once more. When had he last enjoyed this kind of peace? It seemed even his headache was fading with each beat, replaced by a matching thump in his own chest.

V twisted his limbs into Kerry's side and let out a long breath. It felt as though Kerry's heart was beating in his chest, Kerry was blood running through his veins and warming him. Kerry was in his head, pushing away the dark thoughts that had started to overwhelm him. For just a moment, V felt alive and scared.

He hadn't felt it coming, but he knew when Kerry shifted under him and drew his arms around his shoulders. Tears were pouring from his eyes and leaking onto Kerry's chest. When Jackie had died, he hadn't had time to shed a single tear. When Johnny died, he was so lost in his own pain, he didn't take the time to grieve. Then weeks, almost months later, when all of the dust settled, V was overwhelmed. He trapped Kerry into a promise he should have never made. V fell into self-pity, wondering what Johnny or Jackie could have done better with the life he was wasting. Now, it felt like those terrible feelings were draining from his body. The feeling that filled their place was...

"Ker..."

Kerry ran his fingers across V's scalp in affirmation.

"I don't know much about love, but..."

**Author's Note:**

> My V: [Vincent Vo](https://realvsable.tumblr.com/tagged/vincent-vo).
> 
> The title comes from [Drifting by ON AN ON](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sm3p4vHT-7s).


End file.
